An Armored Heart
by TheFirstOfThisName
Summary: Duncan, desperate for recruits, invokes the Rite of Conscription on Teryn Bryce Cousland's second son, leaving both the Teryn and Teryna to die in Highever. Aedan is less than enamored with the Commander of the Grey. It is up to Aedan to save Ferelden from the Darkspawn, but can anyone save him from his own demons? M! Cousland/Leliana fic, M for violence and naughty bits.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I love Leliana so much. She belongs with my Aedan Cousland. Really, just with my characters in general. Random idea I had after I realized how much of a douche Duncan is in the Human Noble Origin. Constructive reviews are greatly appreciated!

Prologue

_"Father, you're not going to die. The tunnel is just over there. We've got to go!"_

_"Lord Teryn, I can save your son, but I came for a recruit. A terrible darkness has arisen in the south, one that threatens to swallow all of Thedas, and every sword will be needed to stand against the Blight. I will take your son and the Teryna, but I need a Grey Warden."_

_"I...I understand. Save my family, Duncan."_

_"Bryce, I don't...no, darling, I'm not leaving you!"_

_"Mother, you can't do this. We need to leave!"_

_"Do as your father says, darling. We love you."_

_"You cannot ask me to do this!"_

_"Go with Duncan, darling. Find Fergus, and carry on the family name."_

_"No, I won't go!"_

_"You leave me no choice. I hereby invoke the Rite of Conscription, and claim you in the name of the Grey Wardens."_

_"It...it has to be this way, Pup. Our family...always does duty first. The darkspawn must be defeated. You must go. For your own sake, and Ferelden's."_

_"...I will never forgive you for this."_

_Footsteps echo, as two pairs of boots stride away, the dark eyes of a man who has seen a family torn apart by violence already turning back towards the man and the woman, Teryn and Teryna, even as they hold each other, one's lifeblood oozing from his stomach and the other with a watchful gaze on the door, eyes clouded by grief and tears. The Warden turns away, to pursue his new charge who almost assuredly wants to cut his throat. _

_Blood-crusted lips move, "Do you...do you think we did the right thing, Eleanor?"_

_A stifled sob emerges from a scratchy throat. "Aedan is...a good boy. We raised him well. He will do his duty. Oh Bryce my love, we lived a good life, didn't we?"_

_"We did. I only hope that for the boys that it was enough."_

* * *

The village of Lothering seemed filled near to bursting with refugees. Alistair could hardly imagine that the party of friendly highway toll collectors had helped the situation much. Poor Elven families, orphans, widows, cripples, elderly men and women alike...Lothering was definitely a destination for the desperate.

_Which is exactly why we're here, _Alistair thought glumly. This irritated him, as he was not particularly fond of feeling glum. Despite his abandonment by his father and loss of his mother, being sent away by the only man he'd had to look to as a father-figure in his early years in order to serve the Chantry, and finally losing his new Commander and mentor within six months of joining the Grey Wardens, Alistair Theirin tried to look on the brighter side of things. No, he preferred to leave the moping and general unfriendliness to his companions.

The Wilder Witch he understood. She was haughty, considered herself superior to anyone in her general vicinity, and was really just an unpleasant and mean lady. Morrigan, daughter of Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds. The kind that turned ordinary fellows into toads.

Alistair shivered. Why did they bring her along, again?

No, it was his newest brother, the junior Warden now in Ferelden, and their little rag-tag party's de facto leader that he really couldn't understand. When Aedan first arrived in Ostagar, he'd made his hatred for Duncan, the King, Alistair himself and the Grey Wardens in general no secret. He had gone out into the Wilds with his fellow recruits and wielded his battered shield and notched bastard sword with a most impressive ease, and had raged and fumed the entire way. The Scary Lady herself had been a bit taken aback when the Warden and Warden recruits had first arrived at the fallen tower.

Watching his new brother fight was an interesting experience, to say the least. Aedan was a very big man, perhaps a head taller and broader in both the shoulders and chest than Alistair himself. Alistair was fairly certain that he was faster, and more skilled with the shield than tnew other Warden, but the big fellow moved with a grace that belied his stature, in addition to putting the versatility of the bastard sword to use. The bastard sword, or hand-and-a-half sword, was so-called because it could be used, by most men of a sufficient strength, as a normal long sword might in conjunction with a shield, or gripped with two hands, as one might a claymore or zweihander. Alistair had watched when Aedan had gotten down to it, cursing and shouting at the Darkspawn as he charged them, abandoning that well-worn shield with a family crest from who-knows-where on it in favor of hacking away like a Chasind barbarian, chainmail stopping some glancing blows and Darkspawn blades cutting home into flesh with others. However, when all was said and done there was an untidy pile of freshly sliced Hurlock, lots of it, as well as a bloodied but otherwise no worse for the wear potential Grey Warden.

Ser Jory, who had a similar ox-like strength but lacked Aedan's height, had been mightily impressed with the strategy. That is, he had been impressed until the Joining. After that, there wasn't really a Jory left to be impressed.

Alistair sighed. _A real shame. Another Warden would be mightily helpful right about now_

However, Jory's cowardice had been revealed, and Duncan acted accordingly. Aedan had been furious, though, when he came to. It had taken the efforts of both Alistair and Duncan to prevent the fiery man from trying to take the Commander's head. Both had tackled him, pinning an arm and a leg each. It would have been funny to watch if Alistair had not been so concerned with the new recruit's homicidal tendencies. Ultimately, it had taken a good deal of shouting and a promise to answer for his actions, both there and in Highever, once the Darkspawn threat was ended for the livid man to cease struggling. On the upside, Alistair had been able to deduce that Aedan must have come from Highever. A knight's son, perhaps? A foot soldier in the Teryn's guard?

At any rate, Aedan had suddenly become a perfect soldier with the battle looming overhead. He asked essential questions only, obeyed his directives from Duncan without question, and was otherwise almost pleasant to be around, in the sense that it was unlikely he'd try to bite Alistair's head off.

The battle in the tower had been less than convenient, though Alistair thought the pair of them, along with the big, stinky, slobbering mess of a Mabari that followed Aedan everywhere and refused to let Alistair scratch behind his ears, and the one Circle Mage that did not want to turn him into a toad, had fought together rather well.

The Ogre that appeared at the very top had been an unpleasant surprise, thought the Wardens had dispatched it with relative ease. Aedan had leapt out of the way of a massive fist coming to tenderize his head before hamstringing the monster. Alistair had delivered the killing blow, driving his longsword through its black heart, and leaving the floor a horrid mess. Honestly, if anyone ever thought to go back to Ostagar, he felt sorry for whatever sod was on cleaning duty.

Getting filled like a target dummy by Darkspawn archers had been probably the second least fun experience of his life, after meeting Lady Isolde. The horrible frog-turning lady _Morrigan, her name is Morrigan _had been kind enough to help them out. Er, maybe it was her apostate mother. Did it really matter? Anyway, somehow through Wilder Mage magic they both were still alive. And saddled with the really degrading and mean one, rather than the crazy but mildly entertaining one.

This was what really confused Alistair about his new brother from Highever, though. Before he'd been a boiling pot, always on edge, always ready to explode at the slightest thing, and looking like nothing would please him more than to kill Duncan in a horrendous fashion. Ever since he had woken up in Flemeth's hut, and even now as Alistair snuck glances ago his left as they walked towards Lothering's single tavern he seemed...empty. Like someone had let all the air out. He responded to direct questions in a soft, almost quiet baritone, and otherwise kept his eyes fixed firmly ahead while on the road.

Alistair wasn't quite sure what to do. Usually, he'd offer a funny comment or try to make light, but Morrigan would probably make another snide comment and a scarcely veiled insult, perhaps even outright abuse, and Aedan would give no sign at all that he'd even heard. It was maddening! He needed to talk to a normal, not crazy, and not super mean person as soon as possible.

Alistair stole another glance at his brother Warden, this time surreptitiously studying his face. He certainly was no judge of masculine beauty, nor could he really appreciate such, but his big friend probably would be making very few maidens swoon. It was a decent face, he supposed. Handsome enough, in its own way. His chin and cheeks were coated by a light stubble, and his hair was closely cut but swept slightly upwards in front. Probably from his gauntlet as he brushed sweat of his forehead. His hair was dark, an inky black much like the sky on a moonless night, and his eyes a piercing blue that turned much darker in his fury. He hadn't really seen much emotion at all in them lately, though.

Finally they reached the tavern. Alistair turned his head to catch Aedan's eye. "So. Shall we go inside, perhaps hear the news?"

He nodded in response before saying softly, "Yes, let's."

Without waiting for further conversation, the burly Warden stretched out one mail-clad arm to push open the oak door, and the party was suddenly immersed in a cacophony of instruments, the rattling of dice, and the general deafening murmur of dozens of people talking at once. There was no hesitation as Aedan strode forward into the common room, Alistair, Morrigan, and the Mabari trailing behind. As soon as the door closed, Alistair heard a voice call out, "Wardens! By order of Teryn Loghain Mac Tir, Lord Regent of Ferelden, you are under arrest for betraying the King and the armies of Ferelden to their deaths at Ostagar!"

Alistair turned to look at the noise. There were about seven or eight men, all wearing the armor of an average foot soldier, save the speaker who seemed to be their captain. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could he was interrupted.

"We have no desire for trouble," Aedan said gently, "but we have committed no crime. It was the Teryn who led his armies away from Ostagar."

Alistair was speechless. Aedan spoke! The captain or whoever he was seemed to be as well. His mouth opened and closed as he offered a passable imitation of a fish in his surprise that Teryn Loghain's honor was being questioned.

The officer found his voice. "To speak of such is treason! How dare you question the Regent's honor. You will submit to our custody or die!"

Uh-oh. That sounded like a threat. However, a voice with a distinctly foreign accent interrupted, followed by a remarkably beautiful woman in the robes of a sister of the Holy Chantry of Andraste. "Commander, do not do this. There is no need for fighting here, nor to make such threats!" Ah, yes the accent. Almost certainly Orlesian.

Should he do something? He was the Senior Warden. Stopping this should be his responsi-

Oh. The idiots were drawing swords. He was briefly aware of Aedan informing the Sister to stay back as he eased the bastard sword from his side, gripping the hilt with both hands and raising it into a high guard as he faced the commander. Alistair readied his shield, preparing to guard his one-time charge's flank against those crossbows a pair of the men were readying.

Crap. Two crossbow bolts were shot at Aedan's unprotected side, so Alistair leapt forwards, catching them on his shield, before rushing toward the nearer of the two, slamming his shield into the poor sod's stomach. The air crackled briefly as Morrigan did her witchcraft, and one soldier turned his crossbow on another, obviously confused by her magics.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the little melee was over. Aedan had skillfully swept the commander's sword from his grip and his faithful Mabari hound had taken care of the rest, driving the littler man to the ground and snarling a bit.

He raised up his hands in front of his face, terrified. "All right, all right, we surrender, just don't kill me!"

The Chantry Sister from before stepped forward, putting away an impressive looking dagger that she had apparently used in the little skirmish. "Warden, I would ask that you spare these men's lives. They are no threat to you now, surely?"

Aedan stared at the crazy red-haired Sister for a few moments. Alistair was stunned. _Is the woman mad? _

He was half-convinced that the big guy might fly off the handle and start hacking, and then he'd have a dead Chantry sister to explain.

After a long several seconds that Aedan spent staring right into her eyes, unblinking, he nodded slightly. He then announced that the soldiers should return to Denerim, and inform the Teryn that the Grey Wardens knew what had happened. Apparently thankful for his life, the commander stated as much while stuttering and then fled, the rest of his men following suit.

As the door swung shut behind them, the Sister piped up again. "Thank you for sparing their lives. I know they had given you little reason to do so."

Aedan just nodded slowly, slipping his over-sized blade back into its scabbard. Kneeling, he ran one huge, gauntleted hand over the back of his hound's head, scratching him affectionately behind the ears. _Blasted mutt wouldn't let me do that. _

Speaking up from the doorway where she had been skulking, Morrigan inquired, "Warden, are we quite finished here? The Blight is unlikely to wait whilst we gallivant about."

Aedan just nodded again, turning to leave the inn. Before he could quite do so, the Chantry sister stepped into his path, causing him to draw up sharply.

"You must take me with you!" She said all in a rush.

Alistair blinked. A Chantry sister leaving the cloister? How...odd.

He was not the only one caught off guard. Aedan suddenly looked more flabbergasted than Alistair had ever seen him; this was possibly the most emotion that had crossed his brother's face since Ostagar. In his soft voice that managed to convey a hint of incredulity he asked, "And why would you be wanting to do that?"

She bit her lip in a move that Alistair even had to admit looked rather fetching. Probably an inappropriate thought to have about a disciple of Andraste, but...

"You have seen that I am not unskilled, and you are sworn to defend the land against the Blight, no?"

"I...suppose we can use any aid we can find." Aedan sounded rather dubious on that point.

"You have seen me fight with this dagger, but not with the bow. I am no slouch when it comes to marksmanship! And, I did have a...well..." Now she sounded less confident.

Alistair had to ask. "You had a...puppy? An army of militant priestesses? Some sort of divine revelation?" He joked.

"A-hem." The sister colored rather completely, turning her cheeks nearly as red as her hair. "Actually I did have a...dream from the Maker."

_Oops. Good going, Alistair. Wait, no, it's her fault for being crazy. Really, the Maker?_

Aedan finally spoke up again, "Look, Sister-"

"-My name is Leliana."

He nodded slightly. "Then, Leliana..." He suddenly sighed. "I can hardly say no to an offer of skilled help."

Morrigan scoffed at their leader derisively. "Perhaps Mother was able to heal a good deal less than she thought."

Aedan turned his head over his shoulder to fix her with a dispassionate stare. He turned his gaze to Alistair, who shrugged. _You want the crazy lady along, bring her along. Just dont expect me to give up my ration of cheese. _

Finally, he stuck out a mailed fist. "Welcome aboard, Leliana."

The now former Chantry sister bounced up and down excitedly. "Ooh, I'm certain we're all going to be the best of friends!"

"So," Leliana said as the party set out, "where are we going?"

* * *

It was nightfall in a little glen just off the old Imperial Highway. Made in the time of the Tevinter Imperium, when present-day Ferelden was still ruled by that entire insane empire which venerated magic, specifically blood magic. It was that sort of thinking which had led to the corruption of the world and creation of the Darkspawn in the first place. Though, for a bunch of blood-letting, demon-using maniacs, they did build a rather nice road.

A little ways away in his bedroll, Aedan lay thrashing about, probably still in his dreams with the Darkspawn. It certainly was a hard life being a Grey Warden, what with the death sentence of the taint, the oath to defend the land against the Blight, the little difficulty with "sowing one's seed", the sleepless nights, the awful nightmares...

Well, maybe hard was a bit of an understatement. Still, it was good to be useful, saving Ferelden from monsters rather than playing nursemaid to the Circle of Magi. Alistair sighed. The uniform had been particularly fetching, though...

His other companions were already asleep: Morrigan in her little ramshackle hut a goodly ways away from everyone else, the crazy former sister Leliana in her tent, Aedan's Mabari who did bite him a little bit that night. He could still see the mark...

The enormous Qunari Aedan had insisted upon bringing was crouching near the fire, looking into the night for something, maybe Darkspawn, maybe something Qunari-ish. Sten, he was called. He looked wickedly strong, wielding a greatsword like Alistair might hold his longsword. Interesting fellow, for a murderer. However, he couldn't say that he thought leaving him locked up for the Darkspawn like that was right. No one deserved to die like that.

All in all, an eclectic bunch, the intrepid guardians of Ferelden. Maker, but the country was doomed.

The thrashing about ceased. Aedan looked to be stirring from his fitful slumber. _Time to explain the facts of life._

* * *

Leliana found herself awake shortly before the dawn. Stretching out languorously beneath her blankets, she opened her eyes slowly, to find herself looking upwards at a blank wall of canvas. _Oh yes. That's right. Yesterday I decided to join a pair of Grey Wardens on their quest to end the Blight._

She sat up slowly, glancing over to the corner where her new leather armor and sturdy longbow lay. After all, leather, while certainly not impenetrable, definitely serves as a better buffer against fatal wounds than finely tailored cloth. The longer she lived in this country the more she discovered that practicality was the name of the game. Why have slippers in satin or silk when a pair of sturdy, shapeless boots will suffice? Why wear bright colors, or any sort of elaborate braid, when plain wools and linen and hastily tied knots will perform the same function.

it wasn't that she despised Ferelden, or considered Orlais to be better. After all, Leliana herself was natively Ferelden even if most of her life had been spent elsewhere. it was true, though, that the Orlesians had a more...refined sense of style.

As she dressed, she thought back to her meeting with the group. It had been rather unexpected, to see her vision fulfilled right in front of her in such a manner. The Wardens themselves were...peculiar. The shorter one, Alistair, was a bit of a joker, always ready with an amusing, sometimes self-deprecative comment. One that the wilder Mage Morrigan was all too happy to exploit, twisting the knife deep.

Morrigan seemed rather...withdrawn, in Leliana's opinion. Although, those robes of hers were simply fantastic, displaying just enough for her lovely bosom without outright revealing anything. _They must be so hard to run about in!_

Leliana was sure that once she got past the rude, icy front that she put up, they would be great friends. She hoped.

The Qunari seemed intent on ignoring her, so she supposed his story would have to wait until he became less prudish, or something.

The other Warden, their nominal leader and the one who was only surpassed by Sten in height and pure size, was the one who puzzled Leliana the most.

She wasn't quite sure that they would be able to be friends. He seemed really angry all the time. His communication was all through gestures and nods, and on the rare occasion that he did speak, his words were short and direct. It was completely at odds, though, with the man who had spared the lives of the soldiers after his head for fame and coin.

Had she given offense? Perhaps he was so uncomfortable in her presence because he was not one of the devout, or he wasn't sure what to make of her? Maybe he wasn't always mean, just a bit gruff. Leliana could work on that.

Having found her resolve, she finished by slinging her bow over her shoulder and settling her quiver at her back. She stepped out into the pre-dawn darkness to find Warden Aedan's bedroll empty. _That's odd. _

Glancing about, she saw a seated figure just at the edge of the firelight, staring off at the road ahead. Leliana began briskly striding towards him, wondering exactly how to broach this conversation with him. It seemed a little strange that he would be up so early, or perhaps late. She stopped about two paces behind him, and was mildly surprised to see that his shoulders were slumped, his head bent forward and cradled in his hands. Finding a Grey Warden in such a compromising position was a little disturbing, and yet somewhat endearing. _Poor man. He's not harsh, just...sad. So very sad. He reminds me of...well, that was before the cloister. It seems so long ago..._

Lost in her own reverie, Leliana was startled to alertness when the fire behind her suddenly crackled, sparks flaring up briefly before returning to their rest to smolder. She let out a little gasp, and Aedan spun around, with surprising agility for a man his size and rose to his feet. She saw that he was dressed only in his shirtsleeves and linen trousers. A moment later, he relaxed. It looked as though his entire body had tensed up. He nodded his head to her before murmuring, "Sister Leliana."

"Warden Aedan! I am so sorry, I meant to say something but you looked so...well..." She trailed off, mildly embarrassed to have found him in such a vulnerable state. How must he feel?

He waved her off. "All is well. Begin rousing the others. I would like to move at first light."

"I..." Leliana trailed off. The man was already walking off! With an exaggerated sigh, she spun on her heel and marched back towards the tents.

Aedan, abrupt as he may be and otherwise uncooperative, was true to his word. By the time the sun was cresting the horizon, the little party was on the road once more.

He headed the group as they trudged eastwards along the Highway. Apparently it was Aedan's intention to seek out the Dalish clans of the Brecillian Forest regarding ancient treaties requiring them to aid the Grey Wardens in a time of Blight. Leliana was able to divine the general strategy from Alistair as they journeyed along.

It was a good thing that Alistair at least was willing to talk. Sten was even more opposed to idle conversation than Aedan, and Morrigan seemed content to walk in silence, except for when she chose to insult poor Alistair.

She hoped the other Warden's stony attitude would not last, or they would be in for one long Blight.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Feel free to review, love to get your feedback! I also own nothing.

Chapter Two

* * *

It was, Leliana decided, a very good thing that Ferelden boots were so ugly and functional. Virtually indistinguishable between the genders as well, save perhaps in size, but there existed men with indisputably small feet. _Small feet, small..._(that thought caused her to seize up in a fit of giggles, and at Alistair's dumbfounded look another spasm of hilarity took her).

Anyway, Ferelden boots made sense to someone who was going to be spending months on the road. They were certainly better to go traipsing through mud and snow and Darkspawn guts than with velvet slippers. Boots also were better for kicking. There was less chance of breaking one's toes and feet, that way.

Still, there were times Leliana longed for the gentle suede and bright hues of Orlais, where silks and satins were the standard, a whole country of beauty. Cool water streaming out of fountains across finely-cut stone, a bright sun hanging up above, a gentle wind pushing against the blooms of carefully potted wildflowers, Andraste's Grace, her mother's favorite - all these things are beautiful things, Orelsian things.

_This is most certainly not Orlais, _she thought. The road wound eastward, taking the intrepid little party deeper into the vast woodlands of the outskirts of the Brecillian Forest. The Arling of South Reach would mark the end of formal human settlement and rule of Ferelden law. Further travel would involve entering Dalish lands, and there were all sorts of tales of the mysteries they held...as well as their often less than hospitable welcome for outsiders.

While a bit monotonous, the Ferelden forests had an undeniable beauty. They seemed so...unspoilt by civilization. There was a certain primal feeling in the air, like this was new territory never before seen by humans. The witch, Morrigan, seemed to sense it - she was much more at home here than she had been in Lothering. She seemed more relaxed, or as close to relaxed as she seemed she would ever be.

Leliana still wasn't sure how she was going to be able to convince Morrigan that they needed to be good friends. After all, it was only the pair of them in the company of three men and one Mabari Hound who, while undeniably adorable, was certainly not qualified for "girl talk".

She was sure she had made every overture possible, every friendly gesture: Leliana had complimented her clothing, her hair, Morrigan's lovely complexion, even commented on her breasts, which continued to defy conventional wisdom on fashion, in addition to gravity... and all of it had been met with snide words, rude sneers, and finally a stony silence. Infuriating!

However, when it came to silence, the Witch of the Wilds seemed nearly as boisterous as Alistair when one considered the two men who led their intrepid little party. Sten, the warrior of the Beresaad, which apparently meant that he was a warrior of the Qunari vanguard, rarely spoke. Those few short and terse sentences he offered were only in response to Leliana's best efforts to learn more of the Qun.

_Sten is nearly talkative in comparison to our leader..._

It was true. Warden Aedan had not deviated from his devotion to solitude. Since their somewhat awkward encounter the night after leaving Lothering, the Grey Warden had seemed to avoid her presence like the plague. Leliana thought that he was being more than a tad ridiculous. Certainly no man wanted to be seen in such a state, and even less so by a stranger, but this was simply excessive. She was certain that he was not so unfriendly as he must want everyone to believe, merely hurt.

_Though, with a face carved from granite, I might as well address a boulder for all the difference it would make, _Leliana thought glumly_. _

The bard's musings were interrupted as from some distance ahead she heard the man himself speak. "Hold up! We are not alone."

* * *

"Hold up! We are not alone."

The voice that called out to his companions felt alien in his throat. He felt a stranger, an observer to his own life, forced to watch as some crude approximation of himself continued onwards. A fitting punishment, perhaps, for a man who had failed in everything he had held dear. Nay, not a man. Aedan knew he had no right to call himself that. A boy, playing at manhood. He had played the fool for certain, believing that skill at swordplay and physical prowess made a man.

Ser Gilmore had been butchered, outnumbered dozens to one, by Howe's brigands. He had given his life for his Teryna and her spoilt son to flee for their lives. As the gates splintered, cracked, and finally crashed open, Aedan could only imagine the overwhelming terror that must have overcome him as he stood with but a bare handful of men against the might of an army, and yet stood his ground until he was cut down where he made his final stand. That was a worthy measure of a man.

Even his lady mother, Teryna Eleanor Cousland, was more of a man than he. She remained by her husband's side to the last, even when she could have fled to save herself.

_And then there was Duncan..._

Duncan. He had so desperately wanted to hate him, to kill him for abandoning his parents, for taking him from his home and the vengeance he would have wreaked upon Rendon Howe.

But then the bastard went and got himself killed by darkspawn and Loghain's treachery.

With Duncan dead, it was like a fog was lifted from Aedan's mind. He understood, now, that Duncan was merely a man doing his duty. He was sworn to defend Thedas against the Blight, regardless of the wishes of boys with a mind towards revenge. And so, he did what he must. And in this, Aedan learned that Duncan was not to blame for Howe's certain savaging of his father's remains, and likely defilement of his mother. No, the blame lay solely at his own feet.

'Twas true, Duncan had invoked the Right of Conscription, and Aedan was honor-bound to obey, as were all men and women. But, with the castle under siege, an army breaking through the gates, and not a friendly sword between the Coastlands and the Korcari Wilds, what was to compel him to blindly follow and leave his parents to their fate?

_I could have said 'No.'_

What would Duncan have done? Killed him? That would be counter-productive. He likely would have succeeded, to be sure, but Aedan was larger, and stronger, and no slouch with a blade. The Warden-Commander could hardly afford the risk, surrounded by enemies who would not appreciate witnesses to their deeds. And with Aedan dead, the entire venture would have been wasted.

And he was strong. He could have made his mother flee with them. He would have carried Bryce Cousland in his arms from Denerim to Val Royeaux, even if it only meant he would be able to lay his father to rest, and the Maker save any man who sought to stand in his path.

No. He was a petulant child, instead spitting upon his parents' sacrifice, before condemning them to making it.

The voice that was no his own, yet passed from his lips, spoke again. "These are Dalish lands. They are not overly fond of Humans."

His fellow Warden, Alistair, helpfully chimed in, "Well, it's a good thing none of us are one of those, right?"

Sister Leliana laughed at that, before the Witch's acidic voice cut in. "Alistair, I am certain your resemblance to the mongrel hound will do you well should we encounter any hostile Elves, but the rest of us will likely need to proceed with caution." Alistair's pained look merely caused Leliana to laugh harder before she added, "If it makes you feel better, Alistair, you were likely an adorable puppy."

Once, he might have joined such banter, but now...The stranger who held captive his tongue did not have time for such trivialities, and neither did Aedan. Nor would any of his erstwhile companions desire for him to, should they ever learn of his most heinous of offenses.

Sten interrupted his musing, gruffly asking, "Do they seek to bring down every beast in this forest upon us?"

Aedan merely sighed, shrugging his shoulders. Perhaps a good fight would help him forget everything, for a little while. If he was particularly lucky, some monster might finally get the best of him.

It seemed that despite his desire to the contrary, the denizens of the Brecillian Forest were not so fearsome as he might have hoped. Bar the occasional nest of enormous spiders, which were as easily crushed under steel-clad foot as they were cleaved in twain, the woodlands had held little that posed any danger to their party, nor anything which might appropriately test Aedan's own mettle. He feared that should this continue, he might begin to go to fat!

Once more he was driven from his thoughts as his earlier warning proved true. A trio of Elven rangers stepped forth from the underbrush. He strode forward to meet them. Clearing his throat once more, that voice which was not his own issued forth a greeting.

"I am the Grey Warden Aedan, come to seek aid against the Blight..."

* * *

The Brecillian Forest, Alistair decided, was not a particularly pleasant place.

What with all manner of forest creatures, both natural and Blighted, as well as Darkspawn, ancient spirits and enormous, scary and mobile trees constantly trying to kill them and all. Enough to ruin anyone's day. Speaking of ancient spirits, there had been one particular experience which gave him a bit of much-needed laughter.

It had all begun when Morrigan had noticed a certain familiar set of magical wardings surrounding a particularly malevolent-looking tombstone. Upon further inspection, it was revealed that the cold sorceress was -not- all knowing. To her utter astonishment, a number of skeletons wielding ancient but likely deadly weaponry began to rise up all around them, and across the clearing an especially frightening wraith appeared. This..._thing_, called a Revenant (as Morrigan so kindly informed them all after the fact, conveniently ignoring her role in its reanimation) possessed a power the likes of which he had never before faced. The bloody thing nearly took his head off before he even realized that it was a threat.

Well, while he was desperately trying to avoid being skewered on its absurdly large longsword, Sten and Alistair's surly new brother set about their own skeleton-smashing competition. It seemed like it must have been rather rewarding, crushing reanimated bones left and right. After a bare few moments had passed, he was joined by the massive men and the Revenant, though admittedly scary, was quickly overpowered.

What truly tickled Alistair to no end was what followed. After a cursory inspection of their otherworldly foe's remains, Sten and Aedan , almost as one,to find a pair of enormous plated boots amidst the tattered cloth. They were, Alistair admitted, rather nice. When they caught the sunlight filtering down through the thick vegetation above, the greaves seemed to radiate a light of their own. And, while old, they appeared to be of a far greater quality than anything the Qunari or the Warden possessed.

For a long moment, the two men crouched together, gazes locked and faces revealing nothing. If the Qunari had a countenance of granite, Aedan's was no less unwavering. Their stare was so drawn-out that Alistair began to fear blood might be spilt over a pair of boots, and his hilarity might be ruined. True, they were _very _shiny boots, but boots all the same.

In the end though, his fellow Warden merely nodded, before rising and turning to Morrigan. In his typical brusque nature he told her, "Be ready to do that again," before walking off.

_Sten does cut an imposing figure in his shiny new boots, _Alistair considered.

Their quest to end the Blight and gain the support of the Dalish hadn't been all fun and games, unfortunately. Truth be told, Alistair didn't pay too much attention to the Bald Elf. _What was his name...Zarthan? Zartharian? _

No, the Bald Elf had gone on at some length about the curse, and werewolves, blah blah blah, we can't honor our oaths until you fix all our problems, something something something...

He thought that their goal had to do with a wolf heart, but that couldn't be right, because that might have been the shortest mission ever. Anyway, it was good Aedan didn't do much talking. That meant he had all the time in the world to listen.

So, for some reason known only to Aedan and anyone else who had bothered listening at the time, their brave little group was merrily cutting a bloody swathe through the native inhabitants of a land otherwise untouched by Men. But that didn't seem quite right, because at the moment he was desperately bracing himself against the charge of a whole gaggle of walking corpses, possibly Tevinter, maybe really, really, _really _old Dalish?

Well, his concern was misplaced. Regardless of whatever evil magicks were giving these cadavers movement, it wasn't giving them a whole lot of movement. Tucking his shoulder tight to his chest, he bulled forward, knocking the nearest from its feet. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Sten neatly bisect one of the monstrosities at the waist with a single sweep of his greatsword, his also recently-acquired gauntlets and helm flashing brightly in the torchlight, before becoming spattered with the blood of long-dead foes. An arrow caught the one to his right between the eyes, burying itself just beneath the edge of its battered helm. Likely one of Leliana's. She'd never explained how she was a cloistered sister...but also quite skilled with a bow.

Eldritch lightning crackled to his left as the Witch of the Wild's magic overcame another of their undead foes. Another came at him, and Alistair parried its clumsy strike only to bury his longsword in its throat. _Why would I do _that_? It can't breathe!_

Well, despite the general silliness of his blow, he slammed his shield into its face, pulling his blade free, and the liberal application of a few swift hacks to the neck relieved the monster of its head in short order. He chanced a glance upwards, to find that Aedan had sprinted past him, crushing the poor walking corpse too slow or too stupid to avoid him beneath his feet as it was flung to the floor by his shield, before driving his sword through the belly of the last of its compatriots.

And then it was done. There was a moment of near silence, save for Alistair's own breath coming decidedly more quickly than he would like, and Morrigan's faintly displeased _hmm. _In all likelihood, one of the dead had committed some horrible atrocity, like possessing the audacity to expire in her immediate proximity.

It wouldn't have been too bad, except this was hardly their first of these little melees. It seemed that every sod who had ever died was making it their responsibility to come and try to tear Alistair to pieces. And while he would hardly like to deny anyone their final wish, being torn to pieces would put a bit of a damper on his own day. So, he did his best to avoid that most unfortunate outcome.

A moment later Sten grunted and wiped his blade clean of residual gore on the remnants of the clothes his victim wore.

"Let's get moving," Aedan said. "There'll be more soon enough."

Oh, there were. And a dragon. And _another _Revenant. Two, actually. And werewolves. Lots and lots of werewolves.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

* * *

Aedan felt...uneasy.

It was a peculiar feeling, uneasiness. There was nothing about the Lair of the Werewolves that put him off, specifically, despite the large presence of aforementioned werewolves, and the fact that they currently surrounded and largely outnumbered his own following. No, he had a feeling that he had been played for a fool.

Yes, he was conversing with a spirit. And yes, werewolves are primarily bloodthirsty monsters and consequentially unreasonable. However, he was conversing with one of them as well. And they told a curious tale.

It was nice to feel something other than shame, but he would have preferred a feeling that was more helpful. Maybe anger? He would be justified. Alistair was, as usual, engaged in some sort of jesting game with Sister Leliana despite the severity of their situation, and likely was planning on leaving the matter of the Blight entirely to him.

Aedan returned his attention to the nearly naked spirit. "If what you say is true, Zathrian has taken me for a fool." Behind him Alistair muttered, "That was the name!"

The Lady of the Forest, as the spirit called itself, nodded slowly. "He is blinded by revenge, and the savaging of his child. The ancestors of the werewolves, the ones who perpetrated the act, are centuries in their graves."

Around her, the beasts shifted. Their leader, the one called Swiftrunner, growled. "The Dalish are fools! They suffer even as we do!"

Aedan replied, "I am not here to settle your grievances. I require an army to combat the Blight."

The spirit seemed to smile. "And yet, the Dalish will not grant you one until you do so." She paused for a moment. "You do not speak only of an army from the Elves, do you, Human?"

"I do not care who will fight the Darkspawn. Only that someone does."

"Our grievances would be far more easily resolved, as well." The Lady said, though her countenance seemed to fall, as though regretting this.

Swiftrunner snarled, "Speak plainly! Your speech smells of Dalish trickery, Human!"

"...I could help you kill Zathrian, and his clan. Then you would fight beside the Grey Wardens."

Behind him, a gauntleted hand gripped his shoulder quite tightly. "Are you mad?!" Alistair. Of course. "You would slaughter the Dalish...because it would be easier?"

Aedan turned. Sister Leliana had a similar look of shock upon her face. She quickly interceded. "Surely, Warden Aedan, there is some other way to resolve this than with bloodshed."

The Witch spoke. "I think it is a decidedly refreshing change of course. The werewolves are not without their...physical prowess. 'Twould be far more prudent for combating Darkspawn."

Sten, of course, said nothing. Rather, he seemed irritated, but only that this discussion was wasting time. Aedan was inclined to agree.

The Chantry sister was not ready to let this go. "I cannot condone the murder of innocents! There has to be another way."

"So you would have me slaughter the werewolves, instead?" Aedan asked.

"Yes, I...Well, no." She _hummed, _somewhat flustered. "I meant that there must be another resolution. Could we not break the curse?"

The spirit elected to break in at that moment. "Indeed. But only through claiming Witherfang's heart, or through Zathrian's aid, could it be broken."

Aedan eyed the spirit pointedly. "Witherfang is conveniently right before us."

"As is Zathrian!" Every head in the chamber swung to look at the newcomer. "Grey Warden. I thought you would kill the beast, not make polite conversation with it."

Swiftrunner began to rage. "Dalish magician! You would dare come here, into our Lady's home?"

The Lady placed a hand on Swiftrunner's head, and the beast fell silent. "Peace. We shall merely see this resolved all the sooner."

Aedan spoke, addressing the Elf. "My companions were concerned that our actions would not be just."

Zathrian scoffed. "Just? You have before you the monster responsible for this nightmare. Kill it, and let us be done."

Perhaps he could persuade Zathrian to kill himself, and end the curse. Perhaps. But he feared the Elf would refuse. Not many were willing to make such a sacrifice, even for those they loved. Aedan knew this full well, and there was no love lost between Zathrian and the descendants of the humans he had cursed so long ago.

He had to decide. Kill the werewolves, or kill the Dalish.

He sensed eyes upon him. Glancing upwards, he found his companions staring at him. The werewolves, the spirit, and the Keeper were as well. Aedan needed more time. "Alistair." The elder Warden almost flinched when he spoke. Aedan found he hated this, his new voice. It cut through conversation like the keen edge of a knife. Soulless, perhaps, but better than his real voice. He wasn't sure he could survive giving voice to his shame.

The Templar responded slowly. "Yes..?"

"It is your duty as well. Decide."

Alistair's words, when they came, were confused. But his eyes told Aedan that he knew what he had asked of him, and hated him for it. "Decide? What do you mean?"

"Do I kill the Dalish, or do I kill the werewolves?"

This of course evoked a rather strong response, both from Alistair and from Leliana. How could he be so cold, so uncaring? Surely they did not have to be so hasty?Certainly there could be another solution?

Sten clenched his fists, agitated by this prevarication. Morrigan simply seemed amused by Alistair's intense discomfort.

_I have little choice, I fear. I see no werewolf young, here._

He could kill Zathrian. The man was obsessed, possibly deranged. He could kill the Dalish warriors. It was simply the way of the world. But Aedan couldn't bear to watch as, in his mind's eye, his sword cleaved through Elven children's skulls and monsters from the forest savaged babes along with their mothers.

His own soul was beyond saving, to be sure. What he had done could not be forgiven. But compounding his sins with becoming a vessel of evil...even if redemption could not be attained, it might be sought.

Even as the Warden's companions floundered behind him, his gaze met the Lady's. He could not explain what happened then. Perhaps he was mistaken, but he was certain the spirit gazed at him in resignation. It knew he had decided their fate, no matter his show with Alistair. The Lady of the Forest merely nodded before Aedan could speak, and around the room hackles rose as the werewolves, almost as one, bared their teeth, as though they could sense their mistress' distress.

A single mailed fist coiled around weatherworn leather as his fingers clutched at the hilt of his sword, tight enough to crack. The gentle hiss of steel on leather sang out to him as he slid blade from scabbard. "Alistair, enough." Aedan spoke, cutting through his sworn brother's fuming and posturing. The man would stand there all day before making a decision. He heard swords sliding from sheathes, the _twang_ of a freshly-waxed bowstring as it was tested, and the crackle of arcane magicks from behind him. Whatever else his erstwhile allies were, they were inexplicably loyal to a man they knew not at all. "I have chosen. My Lady of the Forest, I am going to have to kill you."

Aedan imagined he could practically feel Zathrian's triumph rolling off of him in a wave.

The spirit had no reply. Rather, her form shifted, as the feminine shape of the Lady of the Forest sank and was replaced with an immense white wolf. The canine howled and her children joined her.

The beast Swiftrunner, however, wasted no time. His eyes crazed, his mouth slavering, and his breath coming raggedly he leapt forwards, hurling himself at Aedan, intent on tearing through this puny _human, _of all things, that sought to harm his lady.

The Warden, his resolve firm, stood still as the monstrous creature came charging towards him. A single flash of steel and there came an agonized yelp as Swiftrunner fell in a heap at Aedan's feet, blood spurting from the stump of an arm he now sported. Wasting no time, the Warden administered a brutal coup de grâce, bastard sword piercing through to his heart.

The death of their leader only served to enrage the remaining werewolves. A tide of fur and rage poured over them as Aedan hacked and slashed wildly around himself, trying to keep the lupine sea at bay.

Then, Alistair was beside him, driving one particularly large beast away from his right, before cutting through another's throat. Sten surged forward from the left, making even the blood-maddened monsters quail before his fury. Arrows sprouted periodically in werewolves' eyes, before being placed out their misery by an eldritch ball of lightning.

Aedan founds himself faced with the wolf Witherfang a moment later, the Fade-beast unnaturally quick. Certain that a single blow should kill it, he side-stepped one fierce lunge. He found that even as he made to strike, the wolf sprang forward and carried him to the ground. Discarding his blade to the side he seized its throat in both gauntleted hands, fingers digging into its fur, even as its ravening maw sought his unprotected throat.

It snapped at him, darting closer. Veins in his arms bulged with effort as he strained to keep it from spilling out his lifeblood across the ground. He kicked up at the impossibly strong creature, legs driving with all the force he could muster into its ribs, but still it drew closer. Aedan could feel the wolf's slobber splattering across his cheeks, foul smelling drool spattering unshaven cheeks. Resisting the mad urge to let go and wipe it off, he pressed his fingers deeper into the wolf's coat, gripping tightly about the muscle. It howled at him as it sank forward, snapping at his nose. Unflinching, the Warden gathered his strength. With one last mighty shove, he let go of his adversary's throat even as its eyes glowed with an intelligence beyond its own - an intense feeling of victory. Even as it lunged in for the kill, Aedan threw his arm across his vitals in one last ditch effort. Pointed canines sank into his bicep, and for the first time in a while, Aedan lost control.

Witherfang had sunk up to her gums in the meat of his flesh, jaw working furiously to tear free of the muscle and sinew and finish her prey. Enraged, the Warden surged forward, bashing the wolf across the face with his armored fist. Witherfang was momentarily stunned, teeth pulling free of the wound they had made. The bite now gushing blood, and made worse by the wolf's ferocity, Aedan cried out. This only fueled his fury as he pounced on the beast, his one good arm striking it over the head again and again and again.

As he felt the bone crack beneath the weight of his blows, the Warden finally began to feel something. He felt anger, this overwhelming rage, and it felt _good._ It was as if an enormous weight shifted from his shoulders, to finally release all his hate and anguish in a physical way. His vision, clouded by a red fog, began to gradually clear as the wolf stilled beneath him. He felt hands on his shoulders anchoring him back to reality. With a downward glance Aedan discovered that he had somehow ended up atop the beast, and must have continued striking it for some time after its demise.

Stretching out his blood-drenched gauntlet he gingerly pushed himself to his feet, mindful of the jagged tear in his left arm.

"...Well, I suppose that is one way to kill something."

Alistair. Of course. Aedan turned to find concerned and disgusted looks from the bard and the Templar, respectively.

"The Warden is a warrior. It is fitting that he should demonstrate his strength against a worthy foe," Sten interjected, surprising Aedan with the strength of his support.

The Warden in question hazarded a short glance about the room. The werewolves were slain with varying degrees of savagery. It seemed his companions had escaped largely unscathed.

Morrigan cut in, ending any further criticism. "Perhaps, if we are finished gossiping like housewives, we can proceed with retrieving what we came for?"

Aedan might have laughed. Of course the witch was the voice of reason. These ruins were unnerving, and time would be better spent elsewhere. "Zathrian, Witherfang is dead. Break the curse."

"Very well. I shall retrieve the heart. I would suggest we not linger overlong, here."

* * *

The stars were bright that night. The moon near full. And the only sound he could sense was that of his own breath. Aedan inhaled deeply through his nose. It had been an exhausting day.

With Witherfang's heart and Zathrian's magic, the curse was swiftly ended and the infected Dalish began recovering. Out of gratitude, the Keeper had pledged the support of their clan to end the Blight, and to send messengers to summon others to join them.

The others had avoided him, save Sten. Aedan couldn't say he blamed them. Reflecting upon their battle in the heart of the ruins, he frightened himself. He hadn't meant to lose control. But he had, and an uneasy silence sat over the camp throughout dinner. Alistair, he knew, was appalled by the sheer savagery he had displayed. The blonde-haired man had stared at him from across the fire, as if trying to decide whether Aedan were demon-possessed or if he really was a monster.

He wasn't far from wrong. The power he had felt, straddling Witherfang's body and knowing he held the power of life and death over it, was simply intoxicating. The control. He found more and more that he wanted that feeling again. Anything to never feel powerless again. Anything to change what he had done.

But the past was past. He couldn't atone for it, he couldn't absolve himself. All Aedan could do was complete the task set before him.

From behind him, he heard footsteps, a gentle rustling of the grass. Odd, because he had been certain everyone was asleep. His hand on the pommel of his sword, he rose and turned to find himself face to face with the Sister.

Leliana jumped. _Probably terrified out of her mind. Thinking you're going to bash her skull in for startling you._

"Warden Aedan! I didn't realize you had heard me." The Chantry Sister lied easily, as least. Surprising.

Aedan returned his hand to his side, not wanting to frighten her further. "I am on watch," he said.

"Right, yes, of course. Well, it is good to know we have a vigilant protector," Leliana said quickly. _What was she doing? Was she mocking him?_

Aedan decided to settle the issue by nodding stiffly before he turned away once more. He sat back easily against the large rock serving as his post.

He heard footsteps once more and was nearly shocked to find that the Sister had walked forward to stand beside him, though her eyes were trained on his face searchingly. She spoke softly, "You do not like me very much, do you?"

That caught him off guard, to say the least. _Do I like her or not? What is she playing at? _Deciding that he probably should find out Aedan replied, "I don't understand what you mean."

When Leliana spoke next, she sounded exasperated. "_That_ is exactly what I mean! You are so...taciturn and short with me. It is much like speaking with an unfriendly boulder. Though the boulder might be gentler."

She clearly was not afraid of him. He found that, for the first time in a long while, he was genuinely confused. "I am not one for amiable chatting."

"No, you really aren't, are you?" The Sister regarded him for a moment with clear and sparkling eyes. "You sound very much like Sten, only he sometimes grows impatient when I try to get to know him." She pursed her lips before continuing. "I've thought about it, and I've decided you must not be very familiar with Fereldan customs, or maybe Human ones of any kind. Where we you raised?"

It was like being struck by a barrage of words. Carefully he answered, "You have not been precisely forthcoming with your own personal life."

"Maker, you are right! I suppose that was very rude of me. I was born in Orlais, although..." At that point Aedan stopped listening. The Sister was far too inquisitive. He had accepted his failure as a son, as an uncle, and as a lord of the realm. He was not ready to casually chat about this with near-strangers, or anyone for that matter. He doubted he ever would.

He could not deny, though, that Leliana's friendless and outlook on life was rather pleasant. It was funny, really. Aedan was certain she was several years his senior, yet she seemed so naïve. Maybe she hadn't been broken yet.

After a moment, he realized she had stopped talking. She was waiting for him to reply. "I am very tired, and it is Sten's turn at watch."

"Oh, I...I see." Leliana frowned, and Aedan felt a tiny twinge in his stomach. _Another sin to add to the slate, I suppose. _"Oh, and you were hurt as well. I should not keep you from your sleep."

In truth, Aedan was quite certain he would not sleep at all, but he would try. He stood up, taking careful and quick steps away. A swiftly hazarded glance over his shoulder told him that Leliana was still seated, her shoulders slumped.

Summoning all of his willpower, he ignored the pragmatic part of his mind screaming at him to just return to his bedroll. "Sister Leliana." The woman in question immediately perked up, head swiveling in his direction. Aedan cleared his throat. "I was born here, in Fereldan. I've lived here all my life." That tiny tidbit couldn't possibly hurt.

As he lay in his tent hours later, the sun cresting the hills in the distance, the image of Leliana's brilliant answering smile told him that he had never been more wrong.


End file.
